Saturday, April 13, 2002

I've recently been infected by the exercise bug. I've no idea where it came from or whether it will last. I have been visiting the company gym, fitness centre I believe they are called these days. Gyms I think died sometime back in the 1970s. Then they were full of working class kids practising their Enter The Dragon Kung Fu kicks and tattooed hard men honing their muscles on rusty barbells and punching heck out of deflated punchbags. They were shitholes, resembling medieval torture chambers - all those chains and straps and danger. Nowadays they are bright white and brighter chromium hi tech contraptions - lined up, an endless succession of safe hydraulics, satisfying hisses and springy seats. Working out for wimps like me whose only brave gesture is to go public three times a week showing the world a feeble pair of arms and a disastrous couple of legs. Fitness centres - ersatz gyms and contrived manual work for softies.

If this posting is ever seen it will represent a triumph of bloody mindedness over an impossibly clunky ISP/Blogger conspiracy. This is version God knows what number and if it appears half - hearted and dashed off, it is, as I believe it'll go the way of all its predecessors.

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